


Hands Down

by Friday_25



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Post CoE, Resolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-18 12:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friday_25/pseuds/Friday_25
Summary: A little fic inspired by the song Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional.My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me. So won't you kill me, so I die happy?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had this song in my head and it sort of turned into an idea for a fic...not 100% sure how it will play out yet...watch this space.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Nick and Ilsa leads Strike to confront a terrifying (and wonderful) possibility.

'How's Robin?'

Strike sighed inwardly. Lately, Ilsa seemed to open all her conversations with him this way.

He had just sat down to dinner with his two old friends, Nick having poured him a beer, and already she was onto this familiar line of questioning.

'Yeah, she's fine,' Strike answered, trying a little too hard to seem as though whether or not Robin was fine was of no concern to him whatsoever.

'Still single, is she?' Ilsa asked. Her tone was light and breezy but Strike knew her game. He supposed this was the voice she used in the courtroom to lull witnesses into a false sense of security. He was becoming sick of this dance.

'Uh, yeah I think so.' Again trying to appear supremely unconcerned, Strike took a deep pull on his beer. Seeing Nick and Ilsa exchange a knowing look, he set his glass back down on the table a little too firmly. 'What?' He said, flatly.

'Nothing! Oggy, mate-'  Nick began, but Strike cut him off.

'No, come on there's clearly something you want to say.' He was not angry. He was simply tired of dodging Ilsa's pointed remarks about how much she liked Robin, and how Robin must be a bit lonely in London on her own, or how it would be nice if Robin joined them all for dinner sometime. From the glance she had shared with her husband, Strike was sure this was something they had discussed often and at length between themselves. He expected this from Ilsa, who could be like a dog with a bone, but felt slightly betrayed by Nick, on whom he could usually rely for solidarity in the face of female meddling.

Strike rubbed his eyes wearily. 'Let's just get this over with.'

A trace of a satisfied smile flickered across Ilsa's face, but she spoke gently. 'Corm, it's obvious that there's something between you and Robin.'

'Christ, can't I just be allowed to get drunk and pine over her in peace?' Strike offered a half-smile and an eye-roll to Nick, who took himself to be forgiven for allowing the interrogation.

'So you admit that you like her?' Ilsa asked, trying not to look too pleased at having finally broken him.

Strike sighed heavily and dragged a hand over his face resignedly. 'Of course I like her. I don't see how anyone could _not_ like her. She's the most incredible person I've ever met, and she's probably the most beautiful woman in London.'

'Well, I wouldn't go that far,' said Nick dutifully, flashing a grin at his wife, who laughed and squeezed his hand fondly.

Strike could see that Ilsa was about to say something else and held up a large hand to forestall her.

'There's nothing doing Ils, seriously. She's nearly ten years younger than me, her divorce only just came through, plus we work together.  It's just wouldn't make sense.'

'But-'

'It's not. Going. To happen. Just drop it.'

Strike looked from Ilsa to Nick and back again. They were both smirking at him. 'What?' he asked again, sounding more annoyed now. He wished they would both stop grinning like that. He knew he should not have let his guard down but he just did not have the energy to pretend any more. Being in love with Robin was exhausting.

Ilsa shrugged. 'We've seen the way she looks at you.'

Strike gaped at her for a few long seconds.

'Let's just talk about something else,' he said firmly, picking up his knife and fork and concentrating very hard on cutting up his steak. His face felt hot.

Ilsa seemed to know that the subject was closed, for now, and didn't mention Robin again. The rest of the evening passed away pleasantly, with much laughter and, on Nick's part at least, a few too many drinks. At the end of the night Strike shook hands with Nick, kissed Ilsa on the cheek, and was borne out into the cool night air with the promise of an invitation to dinner again the following weekend.

He enjoyed their company- when Ilsa was not grilling him- but suspected that his old friends were trying to look after him, and could not help resenting this a little. He was not completely dysfunctional. In fact, things had been going pretty well this past year or so, he thought.

Then again, if he was honest with himself, he attributed much of his recent success and happiness to Robin's presence in his life. _She_ looked after him, in a way.

 Strike sat down heavily on the low wall at the end of Nick and Ilsa's drive and lit up a cigarette. For the first time since the beginning of the evening he allowed himself to consider what Ilsa had said.

_We've seen the way she looks at you._

He felt his lips threatening to twist into a smile at the thought and pressed them together, fighting it. He did not want to allow himself to imagine that Robin could feel the same about him as he did about her, but his brain was feeling a little hazy. He could not remember if he had had three pints or four. Or was it five? Thoughts that he was well-practiced in suppressing began to float to the surface of his mind.

Robin was everything.

Throwing caution to the wind, Strike withdrew his phone from a pocket and tapped out a message.

**Are you home?  
C**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This air is blessed, you share with me._

By the time Robin replied- **Yes. Everything okay? R x** -Strike was already outside her building.

The door opened almost as soon as he knocked. Robin's hair was slightly damp and she was wrapped in a fluffy blue dressing gown, a half-empty glass of red wine in held one hand. She looked a little surprised to see him, but not displeased.

'What's up? I only just got your text- I must have been in the bath when you sent it.' She stood back to let him in and then moved through to the kitchen, setting down her glass next to her laptop, which was open on the counter. Strike followed her through and saw that she had a search open for available flat-shares.

Unsure of a safe way to answer Robin's greeting, he gestured at the screen. 'You moving?' he asked.

'I'm going to have to- I can't really afford to stay here on my own. Mum and Dad helped me out a bit with the rent at first but it's not practical to carry on like that, obviously.' Strike experienced a stab of guilt that he couldn't pay Robin what she deserved.

She seemed to read his mind, adding brightly: 'I wasn't crazy about this place anyway, and it would be good to be closer to work.'

'Not sure you should be moving in with strangers though,' he said,  'You could end up with a bunch of nutters for housemates.'

Robin gave an ironic laugh. 'Beggars can't be choosers!' Her cheeks were a little pink, either from the hot bath or from the wine, Strike could not tell. Something on his face must have concerned her because her smile faded and she took a step towards him.

'Cormoran,' she asked, softly, 'why are you here?'

He could not speak. Just sharing the air with her made him feel dizzy. She was gazing up at him earnestly, those grey-blue eyes, like the sea after a storm, searching his face. Her hair smelled like coconuts. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tucked a stray strand back behind her ear. She did not react.

 'I just,' he began, looking down at his feet, grasping for the right words, 'wanted to see you.' He felt utterly ridiculous, but when he met Robin's gaze again he saw that she was beaming at him, her cheeks growing pinker still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short chapter, sometimes you just find a nice stopping point! Hopefully another chapter or two will materialise...
> 
> P.S. Who spotted the cheesy Princess Bride reference? XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's always good to see you, Cormoran..."

'It's always good to see you, Cormoran.' As usual, Strike experienced a stab of longing at the sound of his name on Robin's lips.

He was not sure which of them reached out first, but found he had his arms around her, and felt her hands sliding beneath his coat and encircling him, her head buried in his shoulder. Mingled relief and panic washed over him as he pulled her tight against him, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her hair.

They seemed to stay like that for a long time, their racing hearts gradually slowing until they synchronised into a strong but steady pulse.

Robin finally let out a soft little sigh and raised her head enough to look up into Strike's face. Her eyes looked overly bright, and he fancied he could see a dozen conflicting emotions dancing behind them. His brain seemed to short-circuit and then default to a feedback loop which amplified one single command: _kiss Robin._

He pressed his mouth to hers rather more forcefully than intended, stumbling forward slightly and slamming Robin into the kitchen cabinet behind her. She gave a hiccough of surprise which turned into a giggle as she clung to him for support, pulling him closer against her body, and returning the kiss with a fervour that sent desire quivering up and down his every nerve.

Robin shrugged his coat off his shoulders onto the floor, and he felt her hands at his back, her nails digging into him. She deepened the kiss, groaning, her tongue seeking his urgently. Strike felt like he was on fire. Robin was oxygen: he would suffocate without her, but she also fed the flames. She tugged his lower lip between her teeth and he instantly felt his self-control draw out into a thin wire and snap.

With something like a growl he lifted Robin easily onto the kitchen counter, her knees either side of him, his hands sliding up her thighs. Her skin was smooth and dry, but still carried heat from soaking in the hot water. As his hands reached her hips, he found that she was bare beneath the dressing gown and his grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her flesh. He wanted her desperately.

Just as his passion reached a fever pitch- the two of them breathless, lost in each other, Robin's legs braced at his hips- he felt her suddenly wrench away from him, her hands clenched in the front of his shirt, holding him at arm's length.

At the look on her face, Strike suddenly pulled his hands away as if her skin had burned him. 'Shit. Robin. God, are you okay?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for short chapter and sorry for cliff-hanging! If you've read the books, you'll understand Robin's freak-out


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And you kissed me like you meant it. And I knew that you meant it._

Robin gave a tiny shake of her head, but did not release him. She was breathing hard, her jaw set, her brow furrowed as though in concentration.

'Robin?' Cormoran asked gently.

She opened her eyes but seemed unable to look at him, keeping her gaze cast down.

'Sorry. I don't-' She shook her head again. 'I don't know what happened.  It's just-' She trailed off and let out a heavy sigh.

Strike suspected he knew what had happened. He thought back to their almost-crash on the M4: how it had left him shaking, not just from their brush with death, but from the visitation of memories he usually kept buried. Flashes of the moments before the blast had clouded reality, filling him with blind panic which persisted long after Robin had got them back on the road. The idea that his actions had made Robin relive any part of her own ordeal made his blood run cold. He was filled with remorse. He had let his desire get the better of him, had been too rough, too forceful.

'I'm so sorry, Robin' Strike murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He made to pull away but she maintained a firm grip on his shirt. Finally she swallowed and looked up, taking deep, slow breaths. Seeing his hands still held up as though in surrender, she reached out and pulled them down into her lap. Her hands felt tiny in his, but she held tight and he returned the pressure.

'No. It's not your fault. I just-' She sighed again, 'there hasn't been anyone since- I mean, just Matthew, and-' She bit her lip. They both knew what she meant.

Robin bowed her head again, staring down at their clasped hands. Cormoran leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, speaking softly into her hair.

'Nothing has to happen, Robin. I just want you to be okay.' He leaned his head gently against hers, breathing in her scent, struck (not for the first time) by how completely she overpowered him. He experienced a pull, a tightness in his chest- he wanted to hold her so much that is almost hurt, but he dared not. 'Maybe I should go.'

'No!' Robin gripped his hands still tighter and he felt her knees contract either side of him, holding him firmly where he stood. 'No. I want this. You. Now.'

She was irresistible. Physically, she was no match for him: he could have easily broken free from her grip. In all other senses, he was completely powerless. Taking her face in his hands, Cormoran leaned down to kiss her, feeling her arms slide around him once again, pulling him closer against her body. The kiss was soft and slow this time, Robin's lips moving gently over his own, a gentle hum of pleasure escaping her as his tongue slid over hers.

Strike groaned as he felt Robin's legs draw up and around his hips, but he fought to maintain control over himself, trying to keep his breath steady. He allowed one hand to rest on her waist and with the other, pulled the top of her dressing gown aside just a little so he could kiss her shoulder, her neck, his fingers flexing against her as she moaned and gasped in apparent appreciation. When he reached her ear he whispered, 'Are you sure?' and drew back so he could see her face when she gave her answer.

Robin was smirking cheekily up at him, her eyes sparkling with desire. 'God, yes.'

She giggled as he grinned back at her. 'Right,' he said, pulling her against him and up off the counter, enjoying her little yelp of delight as she threw her arms around his shoulders and gripped still tighter with her thighs. With a small grunt of effort he shifted her a little higher, securing his grip beneath her, his hands making contact with warm, soft flesh under her dressing gown.

Robin kissed him fiercely as he stumbled with her back into the hallway, her fingers raking his hair. 'Bedroom?' he gasped, coming up for air.

'Straight ahead!'

Strike took a few more steps and turned to shoulder open the door, Robin still held tightly in his arms.

They fell together onto the bed, tangled up in each other, nails scraping against skin, teeth grazing against flesh, clothing (and other attire) soon forgotten on the floor. The room was dark, lit only by the dim glow coming from Robin's digital alarm clock, and for a long time the only sound was that of their ragged, rhythmic breathing, and Cormoran whispering Robin's name, anchoring her in reality.

***

Strike's eyes eventually focused on the alarm clock on the bedside table, which informed him that the time was almost 2am. He wasn't sure if he had actually fallen asleep or if he had just drifted pleasurably into semi-consciousness for a while. Either way, it was very late.

'Oh shit.'

Robin stirred in his arms and gave a muffled 'Mmm?'

'I've got stuff to do first thing in the morning- surveillance stuff- the Sutherland case? I'm going to have to go,' he said, apologetically.

Robin slid out of his arms and eased herself onto one elbow, rubbing her eyes sleepily with her free hand. 'You're leaving? Right now?'

'Believe me, I don't want to,' he said, reaching out to twirl a stray lock of her hair between his fingers. 'But if I wake up next to you tomorrow there's no way I'll get anything done.' He offered a cheeky smile and hoped she would not take offence. It seemed to work: He could see her smiling back in the soft light coming from the clock.

***

Covered once more in her blue dressing gown, Robin accompanied Strike to her front door. He bent slightly and pulled her into a tight embrace, drinking her in, his soul filling up with her until it seemed nothing else remained. Robin was everything.

 _I could die happy, right now,_ he thought.

She linked his hands with hers as he pulled away and he lifted her left one and pressed it to his lips. 'This was the best night of my life.'

'Really?' She looked pleased, her cheeks turning pink.

'Hands down.'

Robin lifted up on her tiptoes and bestowed upon him another long, slow, delicious kiss. He felt her mouth turn up into a smile, and thought he knew what she was thinking. Regretfully, he drew back, giving her a look of mock-sternness.

'Robin, I really do have to go.'

She gave a mischievous smirk, which faded into a small, shy smile. Placing her hands on his waist, she looked steadily into his eyes.

'I'll miss you.'

And he knew that she meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit rough but I haven't had much time to work on this chapter and I really wanted to get the final installment up! Hope you enjoyed! X


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